


Petrichor

by pyrchance



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Additional Pre-Slash, Established Relationship, M/M, Warped Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrchance/pseuds/pyrchance
Summary: It's a rained out day on Warped Tour.Pete and Mikey are making mud angels while Patrick fetches the beer.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Mikey Way/Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carbonbased000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/gifts).



> The prompt was petrichor – n. the pleasant, earthy smell after rain.

Patrick’s white shoes slog in the mud. Possibly the only redeeming quality about skinny jeans is the fact that they don’t drag along after him. He can’t exactly take all his clothes to his mom for a hem when they’re on the road.

The fairgrounds are a literal wasteland after the rain. All of the booths that can be deconstructed have been. Great puddles flood the dirt pathways and make ponds in between stretches of grass. Humidity lies thick over this part of Florida, as if the sudden summer storm hadn’t made them all drenched enough.

Still, the deserted nature of the festival makes it easy to track down Pete’s braying laughter. Patrick finds him where he had left him, still by the stage they were meant to play before the rain washed them out, this time laying in the mud with a skinny figure that can only be Mikey.

“Patrick Stump!” pronounces Pete as Patrick wades through the mud towards them. Pete attempts to jumps to his feet from his back and fails spectacularly. Patrick gives both figures laying on the soggy grass a wide birth even as he holds out the extra beer in his hand.

“Sorry, Mikey. I would have gotten you one.”

“It’s cool. Pete can share,” says Mikey, sitting up nimble as you please and taking the bottle from Pete’s hands before he can doing something stupid, like chuck it or chug it. He and Pete are a sight. The back of Mikey’s baby blue shirt clings wet to his skin. Pete has mud stains literally up to his elbows. Neither of them are wearing even a jacket.

Patrick leans against one of the crowd barriers still left out and watches Mikey’s throat as he opens the bottle and takes his first swig. He turns his attention swiftly to Pete before he can get caught, only to see Pete’s grin darting out white and knowing.

“So, uh, what are you doing?” Patrick asks, before Pete can call him out for watching. Pete’s grin grows like he knows what Patrick is doing, but maybe he’s gotten a tiny bit better at respecting Patrick’s boundaries since they've started talking after giving each other hand jobs on hotel nights. Patrick doesn’t know. He’s just glad for the way Mikey hasn’t seemed to notice yet.

“We’re making mud angels,” Pete reports, shaking his head like a wet dog and sending bits of mud flying everywhere. He looks over at Mikey. “Then I think we’re going to go give the My Chem guys some big sloppy hugs.”

Patrick glances at Mikey too, who has already downed half of his drink without once offering it to Pete. “You guys okay over there?”

“I’m going to kill them,” Mikey remarks simply.

“Who?”

“Frank. Bob. Fucking _Gee_ if I have to. Whichever one of those stupid assholes left my laundry at the mat.”

Patrick winces. “Was it all your clothes?” Mikey just nods, jaw working as he tips the bottle back again. Patrick and Pete exchange glances. “You know,” says Patrick, “I bet one of us have something that might fit you. You’re pretty skinny and we’re both pretty small.”

“That’s what I was just saying!” chimes in Pete. He claps Mikey on the shoulder with a sodden smack. “Come on, man. We stopped for laundry like three nights ago. I bet there’s even something clean.”

“You can leave your wet clothes all over their bunks if you’re still pissed,” adds Patrick.

“Patrick!” exclaims Pete, delighted. Even Mikey blinks up at him.

Patrick flushes. “What? I’ve lived with _you_ before, Pete. You think I don’t know how to get even?”

He reaches down and helps pull both Pete and Mikey from the mud. They’re both soaked from the grass and the dirt and the rain. Pete’s hand leaves a smear of it up and down Patrick’s arm but he finds he doesn’t mind. There is something about being able to walk freely around in the empty fairgrounds without security or the call of thousands of fans that has loosened that tense, scared thing he always seems to be carrying around inside him. The rain has washed him clean of it, even if Pete’s determined to get him dirty again. The sharp smell of it pierces through the veil of sweat and sunscreen and bodies that have been stalking them all tour.

They stumble onto the Fall Out Boy bus to a chorus of bitching and complaints about them dripping from Andy and Joe. Somehow Pete and Mikey manage to squeeze themselves into the bus bathroom to clean up while Patrick rummages around through the bunks to find enough dry clothes for everyone.

He raps on the bathroom door, curious to find it closed when it returns out to the hallway. Joe eyes him wearily from the couch before snorting.

“What?” asks Patrick.

Joe just shakes his head, pointedly pointing to the headphones over his ears. “Better not, dude.”

It takes Patrick just a minute to realize what Joe’s insinuating. And another minute to notice that Andy is already gone. He’s glad that Joe has gone back to his book when he face flushes red. His gut squeezes. Joe might not _know_ know about Patrick and Pete but it’s not like they’ve been all that subtle. There’s no way he wouldn’t know that Pete and Patrick have been messing around for years.

Of course, maybe the recent change in that messing around— if they can even call it that still when Patrick has plans to go home with Pete after the tour ends— maybe those changes haven’t made themselves apparent yet. Maybe Joe doesn’t realize that the thought of Pete in there with another guy makes Patrick’s blood want to run cold, even if, confusedly, the thought of that guy being _Mikey_ somehow makes something hot spark inside him too.

Patrick holds his breath, a hundred different scenarios running through his head but no sounds leaking through the door to guide them, and knocks again.

After a few seconds, the door slides open. Patrick doesn’t know what he was expecting but seeing Pete and Mikey shivering in just their underwear is only half as terrible as he was dreading.

“I think I found stuff that’ll fit you,” says Patrick awkwardly, pushing down his far too complicated thoughts. He’s not expecting it when Pete’s arm suddenly reach out and drag him in.

“We really _really_ do not all fit in here,” Patrick protests, even as the door slides shut behind him.

“Gimme gimme gimme,” begs Pete and nothing more. They’re squished enough that Patrick is basically pressed chest to chest with him, while Mikey is standing in the unused shower, damp hair dripping all in his face.

“Jesus, Pete. Give me a second at least,” grumbles Patrick, trying to push him back and sort through the clothes. He gets as far as tossing a clean shirt to Mikey before Pete invades his space even more, sliding his arms around Patrick’s middle to bury himself in Patrick’s mostly-dry jacket. His fingers are ice cubes digging into Patrick’s back. “Christ!”

“I am so fucking cold,” mutters Pete. “How are you so warm right now?”

“Maybe if you geniuses didn’t decide to lay down in a thunderstorm.”

“Worth it,” mumbles Pete, now digging his chilled nose directly into the junction of Patrick’s neck. His breath is warm at least. “You should have seen the sky.”

Patrick startles when Mikey speaks up from the shower stall. “Yeah. It really was.”

He’s peering at Patrick and Pete curiously as he pulls on the shirt Patrick gave him. It’s one of Pete’s and it clings to him the same way it always does to Pete, distractingly. Pete turns his head too, still keeping his head pressed to Patrick’s neck, like he doesn’t care at all who sees.

“You look good in my clothes, Mikeyway.”

Mikey’s thin mouth quirks up. It’s red from the cold and the rain. “You look pretty good in Patrick’s.”

Patrick’s face burns. He can feel the curl of Pete’s grin against his neck. “You know?”

“I do now,” says Mikey, still looking entirely unbothered. Patrick envies the fuck out of him for that. He’s never been unbothered a day in his life.

“We’re not, like, out yet,” Patrick says, unable to help himself. He feels more than sees the way Pete tenses up against his chest, but Patrick needs to do this. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Mikey. It’s just that Patrick doesn’t really trust anybody outside of his band. Not with this.

“Yeah,” Mikey just says. “I get that.”

Patrick stares at him a beat longer than he probably should, wondering if Mikey meant it the way Patrick’s head wants to take it. He shakes himself out of it only once Pete’s icy fingers start to roam towards his belt, yanking them out swiftly and ignoring Pete’s whining about how cold he is.

“Then put on your own clothes, jackass.”

“Mikey even said I look better in yours!”

Patrick ignores this comment as gracefully as he can. That might just be the only graceful thing that happens in the next three minutes as three grown men (well, half grown in Pete and Patrick’s case) try to shove their limbs into new clothes inside of one tiny bathroom. By the thumps they make agains the walls maybe it’s a good thing Joe has his headphones on outside. Patrick doesn’t even want to think about the possibility of Andy listening.

Finally though the three of them are dry and dressed and mostly clean. Patrick manages to wipe his muddy arm off in the sink while Mikey and Pete hold onto each other for balance while putting on fresh socks. When they finish, Mikey gathers up both his and Pete’s clothes with an unholy grin.

“Okay. Let’s go drown those assholes.”

Of course, it’s in that exact moment that the bus gives a sudden rumble beneath them. They have barely a moment to make eyes contact in realization before the bus lurches forward. On the wet floor, Patrick slips against Pete who falls against Mikey who tumbles to the floor of the shower dragging them all down. It’s with a indignant squawk that Patrick lands on top somehow, catching himself with his palms on someone’s legs and landing with his elbow in Pete’s gut.

“Mphf!” groans Pete.

Mikey gives a succinct and all-consuming summary of the situation. “Shit.”

There’s a sudden scrambling, and a lot of bitching, before they all tumble out of the bathroom. Joe’s eyebrows rise as one, two, three of them come stumbling into the front lounge and launch themselves at the windows.

Patrick watches as they pull away from the fairgrounds, rain streaking the windows as the skies above split again. The parking lot is still half-full of busses, but it’s impossible to tell if My Chem’s bus is still out there. They bounce as the bus makes it over potholes filled with water. The clouds rumble ominously overhead.

“Shit,” mutters Mikey again, already digging for his phone.

Patrick turns to Joe. “No one stopped to do a headcount?”

“Yeah, I think there were enough people in the bathroom, thanks,” Joe says, looking pointedly between the three of them. He flips his magazine closed and stands up without further ado. “I think I’m out for this one. You three have fun. Hey, Mikeyway.”

“Hey, Joe,” says Mikey, before turning to his phone and muttering fervently. “I _didn’t_ know their bus was leaving. I’m not an idiot. You know, unlike the people who _left all my clothes_ …”

Patrick snorts. He looks down when he feels a tug on his wrist, but it’s just Pete pulling him down to one of the sofas. He’s already got the remote in one hand and if Patrick remembers, there’s still half a Terminator left to watch in the DVD player.

Pete spreads his legs and quirks his eyebrows up at Patrick. Patrick, with only a small glance at Mikey, lets himself be tugged down awkwardly to rest between Pete’s knees, only a little stiff. Mikey flops onto the couch near their feet, still snarking into his phone with his eyes out the window.

Patrick feels a sudden inexplicable fondness for this entire moment. For Pete warm and solid beneath him and Mikey’s always easy acceptance just there. He lets the sound of Mikey’s phone call and the patter of the rain against the window fill his head.

“You know,” says Patrick quietly, as he settles in. He stretches out his legs, accidentally bumping Mikey’s thighs, who just glances at him without budging. “I get why you like him.”

Pete’s chest rises and falls steadily underneath him. It’s fascinating to experience this close. It’s a whole other thing to do so out in the open.

He peers down at Patrick with a hopeful, gently surprised gaze. “Yeah?”

Patrick hums and weaves his fingers in with Pete’s, pulling the other’s arms around him as the movie starts. His toes are warm against Mikey’s thighs. Patrick breathes in the smell of clean rain and new beginnings from Pete’s skin and smiles. “Yeah.”


End file.
